Stories...Set to Music

Are you one of those people where you need music: everywhere you go, with everything you do, and constantly at your fingertips?

I am one of those people. Everywhere I go, whether it's to school, on a long trip or when I know I'll be waiting a long time...I need music with me. I can't live without it!

Perhaps it's because of the fact that I now own an iPod Nano, or an iPod of any kind for that matter. Up until this year I had yet to buy any mp3 player, therefore having to rely on my CD player or stereo to feed my addiction if you will. Now that I've entered the twenty-first century I've found that I'm listening to music more often than before.

Even my brother has noticed a change. In his words "no one listens to their iPod as much as you do." Maybe he's right, but what can I say? I love the music that's on it! I could never see myself tiring of each song. Every time I listen to it, it somehow seems like I'm hearing it for the first time, or I've picked up on something I never knew before.

Or perhaps that fact goes along with my writer's nature of visualizing the stories behind each song. To help you understand what I'm getting at - and perhaps get inside my head! - I'll give you an example. Bye, Bye by Jo Dee Messina. This song came out in 1998 and it has been one my favorites since the beginning. The plot of the song, so to speak, is that of a young woman telling her husband/boyfriend that she's tried of him straddling the threshold of him trying to decide if he wants to commit to their relationship, or abandon it.

So what's the story I visualize behind this song? It is that of the young woman walking around an abandoned - and invariably old - house with empty rooms, crumbling plaster, sheet draped furniture and fading wallpaper. For me, the house symbolizes what their relationship used to be. When it had thrived the house was beautiful and un-dilapidated. But now that she's said goodbye to him the house has fallen apart around her, and she's walking its halls, reminiscing about what used to be. So in reality - or in my mind anyway - the song is looking at a past relationship that has crumbled, not a relationship in the now.

Whether that made sense to you or not really isn't the point. After all, there are probably a million ways of looking at that song. I've just offered up to you a tiny sliver of that million. Then what was the point of telling you that you ask? Well, it's to show you that each song has a deeply vivid and imaginative story behind it. Whether it's blatantly clear from the lyrics, such as Martina McBride's powerful song A Broken Wing, or whether it's left to our minds to weave a story, such as with Jo Dee Messina's song Bye Bye.

The potential for every song to be a short story within our minds, per se, could quite possibly be the main reason for me yearning for music wherever I go. As a natural writer, I'm always visualizing in my mind. Even with songs that I've heard for the first time. Then, as I become more familiar with them, like reading further into a great novel, those stories take on shape, color and form.

I can't say that any of the songs I've heard have inspired my short stories, but there have been many songs that I've woven into them. Many of you are familiar with this already, but historic houses (16 to 1800's) are what really inspire my stories. Songs are just another part of the bigger picture.

Reading this, you might be asking. So...what kind of music do you listen to anyway? Primarily I listen to 90's country music, but I also listen to contemporary country music, older country music, and 80's and 90's rock. I know, it's not a horribly expansive and open-minded range, but in my defense an awesome Internet radio site called Pandora has cracked open my once narrow mind and filled it with many different musical styles I'd never thought I'd like. For instance Patty Loveless and Lorrie Morgan are now among my favorite artists. I've also found a new favorite song: Restless Heart by Peter Cetera. To anyone who loves 90's rock I encourage you to check it out. It's been repetitively stuck in my head!

With all of this, you might be wondering, does she take a writer's approach to everything? Yes! I do! Like I said before, I harbor an extremely dominant writer's nature. It sits at the helm of everything I do. But I believe it's for the better. When I think deeper beyond a song's lyrics, to me, that's when the song really comes to life, and when the artist has achieved what they had started out to do when first recording it.

There's one more aspect to songs that I'd like to share with you. Don't we all just have those cluster of songs, per se, that we fall back on? Whether we're having a bad day, a good day, a stressful day, an easy day or a taxing day? There the ones that we listened to from the beginning, the ones that we never tire of. Perhaps it's our familiarity with them, or the stories our minds have painted of them, or perhaps , like a favorite pair of jeans, we just find them to simply define a part of us. Whether we can explain it or not.

For me, Bye, Bye has always fallen into that category. Along with Reba's songs Fancy, and The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia. Some other's would be How Long Gone by Brooks & Dunn and When I Said I Would by Whitney Duncan. All of these songs invariably lift my spirits. I feel the oppressiveness of my bad day falling in hapless shards around me. I'm either swept up in the song's music, visualizing its story, or simply closing my eyes and listening to the words. Much as I'll do when I'm reading or writing. Everything else will fall away and my mind will focus solely on the song, the story or what I'm writing.

What effects do songs have on you? Next time you're listening to your favorite song, or songs, take note on the effects they have on you. You just might be surprised!

Delving Into Poems

My niche in writing has always been short stories. Perhaps it's because of my habitual grandiloquence in describing things, or the fact that I am fiercely detail-oriented and feel this inexplicable urge to inject every last morsel of every last detail into each sentence I'm writing. Whatever the reason! I've always felt most comfortable with short stories.

With that said, the free-writing poem I've posted below is a "branch" of my writing skills that I've neglected for a long time. But in leau of my online Creative Writing class at my college, UW Sheboygan, I've found myself dipping easily into that untouched puddle that lies in a desolate corner that is the lake of my writing self. Inspiration for this particular poem, entitled "Thirst" came yesterday, when my hometown of Sheboygan, Wisconsin received much needed rain after enduring a dry spell of twenty-two days. It was a nice, steady rain the whole day. I'm sure more than one person and all things living were rejoicing!

For myself I've found rain to be synonymous with inspiration for writing. I could refer back to a blog post I wrote quite a while ago entitled "Songs About Rain" where in it I explained the thought that there are literally thousands of songs about rain. It's not difficult to see why! Whether it's the steady pitter-patter on the roof like change tumbling from a piggy bank, or the way it slithers and cascades off of the eves, forming a tiny waterfall around the house. Maybe it's the way each rain drop seems to be both individual and unified.

Whatever reason you may have for rain giving you inspiration, I hope you enjoy my poem. I conveyed a drought-stricken earth and how it yearns and pleads for the rains above...then how that earth rejoices when said rains finally come. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I also posted this same poem to my classmates for my online writing class. It will be interesting to see what they think!

Thirst

Is it a strip of beach?
Or a swath of land?
Providing many with livelihoods
Or gathering in dunes like grains of sand.

Comes a cry from the fog-shrouded night
Piercing to the heart
Haunting to the ears
Silence is fractured.

Crops wilt like old men.
Window’s shuttered against sun’s glare
Grass hardens underfoot
Eyes lift pleadingly to the sky

Stretches above, an unmoving canvas
Making no attempts to shield the sun
Thin, gauzy clouds mockingly float by
Now it is known, the source of the cry

From the wilted fields to the fruitless garden
From the yellowed lawn to the faded trees
From the colorless flowers to the angry bees
All things thirst for what lies above

Desert has taken over this land
Forming cavernous valleys where rivers once ran
Parched earth cries out for mercy
All the living dream of a single drop

Amidst the mocking sun it falls
Onto a singular flower petal
Its thin stem bends, its color shimmers
Sun reflected off of its splendor

Soon tiny mirrors catch this gold light
Falling from Heaven like sweet Angel tears
Shutters swing open from dusty windows
All the living thirst no more

Misbehavin'

We've all been there, some indirectly, and some directly. Whether it's in the grocery store, stuck in a traffic jam, on a endless road trip to see relatives, in a clothing store, at a favorite restaurant, at the gas station...

Point is, it can happen anywhere! No matter where you are, although there are places where it's more prone to occur than others. So...you may be asking yourself. Just what am I talking about?

Misbehaving children.

Being 19, I obviously don't have any kids of my own. But I've been in more than one situation when I've seen kids act out in violent and erratic ways. Instantly I feel embarrassed for the parents, who not only have to deal with their unruly children but also the smoldering and prying looks of passersby. Other times, yes, I'll admit, I get a little vexed. I mean, who can stand the hollowing, whining, constant prodding and screams of petulant children? Perhaps it because I'm not a parent, or because I've always held zero patience for things like that but...I simply can't see how anyone can talk to their children when their in "tantrum mode." Never mind keep their cool amidst huge crowds like Wal-Mart or a clothing store.

For instance, take the popular television series Supper Nanny. Since finding out I got the Style Network with basic cable I've been watching the show off and on. Let me tell you, it makes me shudder every time. Seeing those kids act out in such disturbing ways.

As I've learned from the show, often times the children's erratic behavior isn't always misplaced. Sometimes there's a reason behind it. Like the daughter on one episode who kept acting out in dangerous and violent ways was simply trying to get her mother's attention. But the mother, being a single parent and having four other sons and a house to look after, while going to school part time and working...well, you can see where this is going right? She didn't have enough one-on-one time for her and her daughter. Therefore the daughter felt deprived and acted out to get the attention she craved.

There's one of perhaps the most fundamental "root" problem of disobedient children. Fractured families. In today's world, not just in America, divorce rates keep climbing. It's a sad reality. Often times the burden of the household and children fall on a single parent, instead of two to share the load. Like God had intended in the beginning when he talked about marriage in the bible. Just like the scenario on Super Nanny the mother simply couldn't handle - or juggle - all of those responsibilities effectively and inadvertently cut out one of her children. But it wasn't just the daughter who suffered. Her sons did as well. They too acted out, though their actions were a result of no supervision. We all know what can happen to children when they aren't properly supervised.

All of this is simply what I gleaned, per se, about the world around me. As I've said before, being a detail-oriented person and a writer, I am invariably watching closely the world around me. This is something that I've been wanting to write about for a long time. Hopefully what I'm writing isn't merely opinion and gleanings but is relateable to both people my age, and people of all other ages as well.

With that said, let's get back to where unruly kids can be found. One of the places I've found they are in high concentration, per se, is the library that I'm working at for the summer. Now you may be saying, well of course! It's a library! They have kid's reading and summer programs and such, and you'd be right. But still, now that I work there, I'm beginning to realize that...the library isn't so quiet! At least, not all the time.

Take this one moment for instance. I was on the first floor shelf reading the Spanish collection when two young boys - brother's I'm assuming - jump out of the elevator and yell something unintelligible at the top of their lungs. Needless to say I started, turning around to see what was going on. Everyone else in the library did the same. Then the boys' mother came out, a mortified look on her face. Instantly she reprimanded them, whispering in firm tones. Within a matter of a minute everyone else went back to what they were doing. Serenity restored once again.

On another separate occasion I was again on the first floor when a heard a high pitched wailing come from the second all the way to the first floor. When the elevator doors opened a father walked out with his young son and daughter. The daughter was the source of the wailing. She continued to do so all the way to the front entrance doors.

What makes kids act so boldly and out of line in public? How can parents keep a calm facade and peaceful, patient demeanor when their children are blatantly acting out? Are different personalities more prone to acts of disobedience? Are they ways to completely eradicate it?

Most of these questions, I'm noticing, have to deal with the psychological side of this problem. Which is something that, although I'm interested in, I haven't yet dabbled in it. Although I'll admit, my interest in psychology doesn't stem from this, but from my interest in creating more complex and realistic characters in my short stories!

Perhaps for a moment I'll take it back to Super Nanny. Obviously the show's main character on which it's based upon, whom I simply know as Jo, must deal with hundreds of unruly children. How does she do it? On the show you see her walk into a home thrown on its side by chaos, haphazard lifestyles, often fractured families and flimsy structures. Then you see the parents, who look so thinly stretched, worn out and stressed that if one of their children even thought about throwing a tantrum, they would splinter into a thousand pieces. Seeing families like that, in the beginning of each episode, I often wonder how they could've gotten to a point so low? More importantly, how could they even call themselves a family? When all I see are biting, snapping, sharp words on sharper tongues, hitting, pouting, tantrums and everything in between?

This again, brings me back to the state of the American family as it stands today. It's a sad picture I might add. I could also bring in another blog post I recently wrote entitled "How Many Hours Do You Need In A Day?" which focused on the unnecessary over cluttering of our lives. The inexplicable urge to keep up with the Jones' and enroll your children in every little league sport there is, every after school activity, every summer program, every musical class there is...and so on, and so on. Why I ask? Why do parents feel this ludicrous urge to either push, encourage their children to join anything and everything? Whatever happened to enjoying the summer for what it is? Instead of flute practice one day, piano lessons the next, little league baseball one day, school soccer practice the next?

Now, you might say, because I was never enrolled in any sports, music classes, school related activities or summer activities...that I would therefore be biased against those that are. To a degree, you'd be right. But it's no secret that today's American family is far too busy for what it natural. I'll admit, I like being busy, whether I'm at work or at home. But only because it keeps me moving, gives me energy, a sense of purpose, drive and gives interest to my day. But there a huge difference between being busy and enjoying what you are doing because of it, and being busy because you feel somehow that you need to be busy and therefore try to squeeze everything into a day. There is also a difference between being busy because it makes you happy and gives you a sense of purpose and meaning to the day - like me - and being busy simply because that's just the pace of life and everyone else it doing it, so instead of feeling energized and adding purpose to your day...you're inadvertently draining it dry. Leaving you empty and gasping for breath by the time you hit the pillow.

Obviously, I've gone all across the board on this post. But that's just how my brain works! As I've said before, I'm a free handed writer and write whatever comes to me on the paper. In other words, I think on paper, instead of out loud!

Whatever the reason for kids acting out in public I applaud any parent who keeps their dignity and cool in such situations. Although I've never been witness to it, I've heard many stories of perturbed parents who simply yell at and slap their petulant children until they're quiet, instead of getting down to their eye level and talking calmly but firm to them. Such situations of the parents losing their cool do not help the children at all. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. For outside of that incident, I'm sure that child would be smiling and happy, just like every other kid you see. It's undoubtedly a hard line to straddle when your child is acting out. That much I understand. Often times I've reflected the questions listed in this post upon myself. How would I react in such situations? Albeit I have inklings, I can't give a clear answer. I don't have much patience when it comes to unruly children, but yet I inexplicably feel embarrassed for any parent who's children who act out. It draws unwanted attention and invariably throws crass and hasty judgements on said parents. There are perhaps thousands of ways to react in such situations. The question is, will you choose the right one?

Color My World

Leaves swirl tantalizingly above, caught up in the crisp, sweetly scented wind as if children, enchanted by their lively and rich hues, had tossed them into the air. Or perhaps they wished to catch a whiff of the pungent and precious sweet smell of them, longed for it to fill their lungs to bursting point. In turn, perhaps it wasn't the smell itself they longed to be filled with, but the entire sensation of the season itself. As if inside their small bodies they could contain all of the inimitable beauty offered to them, where they could hold it all through winter when the world was devoid of color and they had something to look forward to. A little reminder to them all that color would once again flood the earth, things would once again become ablaze with life and wonder.

I too breathe deep as I step outside my house, closing my eyes and visualizing being in a different place besides this concrete block of tightly woven houses, lawns and winding streets. In my mind's eye, and within the wide open spaces of my perpetually over active imagination I imagine myself dancing upon those swirling leaves. Feeling their rough surfaces scratch my face, hear the gentle wind whisper of winter's coming breath and urgently wishing me to never close my eyes against the colorful display before me. For it is oh so fleeting. It is nature's last attempt to draw the human eye to itself before most of the world succumbs to a uniform blanket of snow like pulsing black and white threads across every television channel. Each one the same, each one burning against your eyes, forcing you to look away and only imagine what it looks like beneath the surface.

Driving along the highway it eventually dwindles into narrow roads that simply meander into the countryside, like concrete streams trickling from the heart of a mountain's peak or a wider river that feeds the life of many. My face is plastered to the window, where beyond its thin pane is captured and framed the wondrous beauty that weaves and threads itself into existence in my mind long before summer has ended. Amidst the thick, blithely swaying beds of wheat and corn the tree tops are ablaze in brilliant, startling, striking and captivating beauty. It seems, as I stare spell bound at them, the lines to a million stories run through my mind. I try to hold on to some of them, attempting to make sense of them. But it's no use. My mind, as well as the rest of me, are too caught up in the magical tapestry spread before. Just as if I was writing a story, I have fallen head first into its beauty, and foresee no escape under I've departed from it.

Stepping out into the crisp air I instantly inhale the sweet, pungent smell of fallen leaves. They litter the ground like a thousand centuries old quilts laid out on the forest floor. A cushioning of sorts for weary animals, or a treasured crunching sound underfoot that penetrates the luscious countryside silence like teeth biting into the succulent flesh of a fresh apple. For a moment I stand where I am, simply enjoying the first few seconds I've stepped into amidst this season.

Then my family calls to me and I run ahead, tempted to close my eyes once more to seal in the images flipping through my mind like a fallen photo album who's pages are fanned by the wind. Reaching them I slow down, walking next to them amidst a fiery blaze of color. Varying shades of yellow, orange, red and brown litter the ground and ignite many a tree canopy around and above me. Making me feel as if I was walking into an abstractly solid wildfire. A world set ablaze without flame. The palpable sweet smell of a wood stove without smoke. I find myself set off kilter because of such thoughts. But yet I feel exhilarated and enlightened. Captivated and intrigued, as if I was able to write a thousand stories in that moment, capturing every feeling, emotion and thought on paper as vividly as I was writing with my vision.

My eyes habitually seek out the reddest of the leaves and upon finding one would instantly take it into my hand. Sometimes it would be a daring candy apple red, bringing to my mind the image of a classic 60's Ford Mustang. Other times it would be a regal, almost blood red. Conjuring up images in my mind of luxurious red velvet dresses and the blatant richness that this fleeting and fiercely captivating season has to offer. In addition I would seek out the brightest yellows, marveling at their pureness, with barely a brown spot or hole to be found. Deep orange leaves reminded me of bulbous pumpkins scattered throughout corn mazes and pumpkin farms across America. Synonymous with this time of year, they were just another sign of the approaching beauty, another symbol for me to loose myself in.

My mouth waters at the thought of yet another sing of this approaching season which I love so dearly. Bringing the mug to my lips that I had clutched so secerly in my hands I closed my eyes as rich and warm apple cider flows between my parted lips and dispels the afternoon chill from my skin that, even though clothed in my favorite sweater, jacket and scarf, succumbed to the penetrating chill laced with whispers of winter's approach. As I lower the mug images of fresh apples hanging from trees and quaint, countryside apple stores dance through my mind like a catalogue of treasured post cards collected over the years. My mouth waters at the thought of biting into a fresh, pink skinned apple. Tangy juice would burst inside my mouth like a waterfall of sweet flavors. The taunt skin would break easily, allowing my teeth to sink into the tantalizingly soft flesh, where the flavors of every colored leaf set ablaze was seemingly collected and saved just for me. So I could also taste such beauty, instead of simply experiencing it.

But oh how I had experienced it! Letting my writer's mind, heart and soul walk before me as if detached from my physical body. I knew as I glanced a last longing, captivated and wonder-filled look at the fiery forest behind me that I would write a thousand lines to a thousand stories that night, my mind filled to the bursting point with dozens of sensory smells, captivated emotions, loosely woven fragments of stories both experienced by me and by fictional characters that had yet to take root within a story. Stories would live on in photographs as well, each one snapped as my writer's eye looks through the lens, imagining each freeze frame to be a potential story in itself.

This is just a snippet of how I view Fall, my most beloved time of year! The colors are simply breath taking and for a free handed writer of short stories like myself, it's a dream come true. A Heavenly playground for the senses and beyond! Whether this is how you view Fall or not I hope everyone gets to enjoy its undeniable beauty and fleeting wonder for however long you can. I know I will!